


The Garden of Grief

by grangerweasleys



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Spoilers, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Loss, Loss of Parent(s), Malfoy Family, Parent-Child Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 06:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grangerweasleys/pseuds/grangerweasleys
Summary: As Scorpius approaches his final months at Hogwarts, the absence of Astoria once again becomes stronger. Still grieving her loss and coming to terms with her absence at his upcoming graduation feast, Scorpius relies on the comfort of Rose, Albus, and his father to get him through a grief that seems eternal. Set in three parts.





	1. A Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Callum's contact lenses.
> 
> #SaltyForAstoria

**PART 1: A GARDEN**

It is two o’clock in the morning. Outside, snow falls onto the awaiting frost and the chill quickly becomes uncomfortable. Scorpius is on his Christmas holiday, his last at Hogwarts, and his father is staying the night in London. Beside him, Rose Granger-Weasley sleeps. 

She is, Scorpius thinks, the most beautiful person in the entire world. He is laying on his side and his fluttering eyes watch her chest rise and fall, rise and fall. Her perfect mouth is drooped open, drool edging at the sides; her body is curled up together and she, to Scorpius’s delight, leans towards him. Every so often, Scorpius reaches out and strokes her cheek. Every time, her touch on his skin electrifies his body and fills his stomach with a warmth so strong that it is almost uncomfortable. The only thing better than this, than watching her, is when she’s awake and her personality becomes her most prominent feature.  

But the warmth is prodded by anger. He’s angry at himself: for not being asleep, at the fact he will be exhausted when he’s spending the day with her tomorrow, and for allowing this moment to be ruined by his own grief.

Scorpius had always been the worst sleeper. Not just a snorer, or a sheet stealer, or a side-hogger but a horrifically bad sleeper. His tossing and turning was often so bad that his covers would fling completely off of him during the night. His limbs, already so long and gangly, sprawled out across every inch of the bed. He would sometimes wake up with bruises on his wrists, the marks from them being whacked against the headboard as he slept. 

_“Good luck to whoever shares a bed with you one day,”  Albus had said one morning as Scorpius examined his bruises. “They are definitely going to need it.”_

With Albus’s words on his mind, Scorpius had warned Rose. She did, of course, laugh and shake her head. _“I’ll be fine, Scorpius! I’m Rose Granger-Weasley. I can handle a duvet thief.”_

Despite his pleading, here they were. He had thought that his only emotion that night would the anxiety of whacking his girlfriend across the face with his elbow. But that’s why grief hurts so much: it is everywhere and yet so eternally unexpected.

Scorpius is angry that instead of gazing at his sleeping girlfriend like a normal teenage boy after having sex for the first time, he is thinking of his dead mother.

He is thinking of the purple bruises on her skin when they would lay in bed together. It was always after he had snuck into his parents’s bed and nestled himself in-between them during the night.

“Mummy, why are your legs and arms so bruised?” He had asked, looking up from her chest where his head lay. He enjoyed listening to her heart thud. That was one of the things he missed the most. Her heartbeat as he lay on her chest.

“I bash into the furniture when your Daddy and I waltz around the house,” she had replied. It had been so swift, so casual, that Scorpius knew now that it had been prepared.

He remembered the horrified look on his Dad’s face — was it at the bruises or the way another act of their love had been scarred by her illness? Or was it at both?

It wasn’t until Scorpius was older that he had realised the truth — that _he_ had been the one who had caused the bruises on her skin. When he had confronted her about it, years later, Scorpius had been horrified. 

“It’s okay, my Little Scorpion,” Astoria had said. She wiped away his tears and took him into her arms. “I understand. I am the same, you do know.”

“Y-y-you are?” Scorpius had sniffed 

“Of course! I am your Mummy, after all.” Astoria and Scorpius giggled at each other. “When I was a little girl and I stayed at my friends’s homes at night, I annoyed them all so much.”

Scorpius’s little eyes had widened. “Mummy! My Mummy! Annoy them? You could never annoy them!”

“Oh, I did!" Astoria continued. “We all slept in the same bed and I took up _all_ of the room and stole _all_ of their quilts!”

“So - so I’m like you then, Mummy? Even though I look like Daddy?”

“Yes, my Little Scorpion. And I know, when you go to a sleepover yourself, that you’ll be my little duvet monster too.”

The memory of her tickling him, of how happy he had been, and of how much he loved her, was so painful that Scorpius had to bite down onto his lip to prevent himself from wincing in pain. 

He could no longer think of the beautiful girl in-front of him but of how much he missed his Mum.

**~ ~ ~ ~**

He’s at his Hogwarts leaving feast. He is outside and the brightness around him is blinding. He cannot see at first but when he can, the first thing that he notices is Rose in the distance. She’s with her parents by the castle, her back to him, and she’s chatting away excitedly to them. Her happiness makes Scorpius smile.

“My Little Scorpion,” he hears a soft voice from behind him. “Leaving Hogwarts.”

He turns around and there his Mum and Dad stand. She’s crying, a white handkerchief to her face. She stopped using white ones when she began to cough up blood, Scorpius recalls. His Dad has his arm around her and his ponytail is gone. She had never liked it very much. 

“Mum — I…” Scorpius says. He is stopped by her embrace, his arms swooping around him and holding him tightly. She is not as frail as she had been during her final years and her touch makes Scorpius feels young again.

“I am so, so proud of you,” she whispers into his ear. She’s running her hands through his hair and he realises that no one could quite replace the way that she does it. Not Rose nor his Dad. “When did you get so old? So grown?”

Scorpius pulls away and beams at her. “I’ve sat my N.E.W.Ts! We can finally discuss _everything_ that you learned in History of Magic. You need to give me your book list yourself, Mum. I want to read them all.”

“Of course, my Little Scorpion,” Astoria responds. “I cannot wait for you to read the one on…”

“Scorpius!” A voice behind him calls. He turns, the brightness momentarily blinding him again, and he sees Albus standing with his family. “Mum wants a photo of us!”

Maybe _his_ Mum would take one of them too. He waves at his friend and shouts “coming!”. When he turns back around and sees his Dad standing there alone, there is no disbelief. There is only a painful, _thee_ most painful, understanding.

“Mum.” He whispers. “Mummy.”

He’s on his knees and he’s wailing out. He’s wailing out for her even though that he knows that she will never come. He’s wailing out for her even though he knew she would never be there. That she would never make it that far. He’s wailing out because he knows all of this and yet the pain is still excruciating. 

_“Mum!”_

A thud. The brightness is gone. It is now dark.

“Scorpius! Scorpius! What is it, Scorpius?” Another voice says. She is frantic. He starts to hear wails, not her wails, but someone else’s wails. “Scorpius!”

He feels a tight grip on his arms, shaking him. Suddenly, his eyes pop open and Rose is in-front of him. Her scared face is in is, staring at him in a way that she has never before. Her mouth is open and her eyes are wide.

When Scorpius notices the wetness on his face, he dabs at it and looks at his wet fingers. He realises where the wails were coming from.

“Scorpius.” Rose wraps herself around him. They hug and the love in her touch is so much that his cries worsen. “You’re alright. I think you just had a bad dream.”

Her voice calms with every word that she says. She tightens her grip before she continues, “Did you — I know that Albus sometimes has dreams about… well, was it of Delphi? Did you dream about her? Of that other world?”

Scorpius hesitates. “I’m not quite sure,” he says slowly. He forces a small smile. “Maybe I just dreamt that I lost my first edition signed copy of ‘A History of Magic’.” 

“I know how much you adore Bathilda Bagshot, Scorpius, but honestly — I don’t think — it could _not_ have been that.”

“Well, I did warn you that I was a terrible sleeper,” Scorpius replies. He forces himself to make his voice as light and as casual as he possibly can. “And I — I was right. I am the — _thee_ most terrible sleeper.”

“You failed to mention that you would wake up wailing and crying!” Rose says, folding her arms. “Scorpius.  I _know_ you can remember what you…”

He cuts her off by placing his hands on her shoulders. “I’m fine,” he says. There’s a flicker of an idea in his face. “I — I think I remember it now!”

Rose raises an eyebrow. 

“I dreamt I was falling off a cliff.”

“Falling off a cliff?” Rose repeats, the incredulity melting off of every word.

“Yes. Falling off a cliff,” Scorpius continues. “I — I — I — I’ve never liked heights much.”

“You’ve never liked heights much?” Rose says loudly. “Scorpius —”

“I — I — I think it’s a fear of mine,” Scorpius declares. “Yes! A fear. I am…”

“Scorpius, you play Quidditch for the Slytherin team!” Rose says. She shakes her head in disbelief as Scorpius’s face falls. “You don’t need to lie to me, you know!”

Scorpius’s eyes scan over her determined face: her furrowed brow, her tilted head, her scrunched up lips. He realises that even the most elaborate lie will fail against her. “I — I — I said I was a terrible sleeper and… and we were going to revise tomorrow. So - so - I think it’s best if I…”

He flicks the covers off of him and steps out of the bed and into the direction of the door. He can hear the quilts shuffling behind him, the sound of the floor when another pair of feet make a dent onto it. 

“Scorpius!” Her voice is desperate and the hurt blares through. “I’m your girlfriend! If you want to sleep elsewhere, go! But I’m — we’re supposed to be able to talk about things like this.”

Scorpius turns and when he sees her standing there, in her pajamas and with her hair swept up and covered, he can feel himself melt. He walks over to her and places his hands on her shoulders. “I’m okay, I promise,” Scorpius says. He kisses her and, to his relief, she responds to it. “I just don’t want to bother you. I’m a terrible sleeper.”

Rose rolls her eyes and puts her hands onto her hips. “Scorpius, we…” She pauses to motion between them with her finger. “Both know that I won’t ever believe that. Don’t we?”

“Can we not… pretend?” Scorpius asks, hopeful.

“If it’s what you really want.” She smiles at him lovingly. “But — Scorpius, you told me about how much you regretted not being able to talk to your Dad when your Mum died. Or Albus! How much you regretted not being able to talk to your best friend. So — if you want to leave, if you want to sleep elsewhere, I want you to know that you can come back and I’ll be here if you want to talk.”

He would have nodded and told her that he would if he needed to; that this is what he wanted to do. But she had said that word — mum — and now his lip is trembling and his eyes are burning with tears. He watches as the realisation spreads across Rose’s face and she realises that, perhaps, it was worse than what she had thought. Delphi could be locked away, that other world gone forever, but grief had never been as simple.

“Oh,” Rose says. “Scorpius, I…”

There’s a love in her voice and in her eyes that reminds him of her. It’s a different love, of course, but it’s a love that is a reminder of her absence. He is loved romantically by Rose, paternally by his father, platonically by his best friend… but that maternal love will not be there at his graduation. His dream moves into his reality with a fierceness, ripping through his stomach and straight out into his back. Scorpius whimpers and reaches for Rose, wrapping himself against her and crying out.

“I really want her there,” is all that he can muster. 

He feels Rose lead him over to his bed, her steady hand against his back. All he can think of is his dream. His mother’s heart shaped face. Her glossy brown hair, curled around her face and not limp and straggly as it had been in her final years. Her plump lips. Her glowing skin, before the illness made it so grey and pale. Why hadn’t he realised that it was a dream the moment he had laid his eyes on her? She had looked like a mother who had never been dying. 

“I want her there,” Scorpius repeats again. Rose has summoned tissues from across the room and he takes one in vain, knowing that they will do little against his flowing tears. “I want her at my graduation feast and — and — everywhere else…”

“I know,” Rose replies. “I know.”

“She — She — she just pops up everywhere,” Scorpius continues as he desperately dabs his eyes with a tissue. “The grief — it’s — it’s always in a new way. Somehow. Not being able to share my O.W.L. results with her, my classes… History of Magic! Rose, she would have loved to have heard about studying History of Magic at N.E.W.T level. And — And — Delphi and the other world — I wish I could have had her there. To have been there for me. And tonight!”

“Your dream. What was it of?”

“It wasn’t my dream. Not really. I — I sleep like her, Rose. We are — were — both awful sleepers,” Scorpius says. There’s a heartbroken pride in it and Rose can feel her own heart crumbling. “With the other absences, with holidays and birthdays and special occasions, those — those can be expected. Those can be prepared for. But the mundane? These unexpected stabs of fresh pain? They hurt the most. They cannot be prepared for. She is not here…”

“That’s not true, Scorpius," Rose says weakly.

“And yet, she is everywhere. Even the simplest smell, the lightest touch… she is everywhere and not here. And it is — that is — that is so, so painful.  She’s — she’s not going to be there on my last day at Hogwarts. At the feast. She’s not going to be there and yet her absence, my grief, is going to be there. If someone has her perfume on or — or if I see someone looking at their child the way that she looked at me… I want her there, Rose. I want her there.”

Scorpius pauses and the only sound is his sniffling. Rose purses her lips together, wondering what she could possibly say to make it better and desperately not wanting to say the unhelpful.

Before she can, Scorpius begins again. His voice has hardened. “But I’m angry, Rose,” he says. “I’m angry because it can’t be either or. It can’t be everywhere or nowhere. I’m angry because I don’t want to have my last day at Hogwarts ruined by my pain and grief. I’m angry that I had to loose her again in those other worlds and mourn her again and again. I’m tired of mourning. I’m — I’m tired — I’m tired and angry of not being able to — able to lay here with girlfriend without thinking of her.”

There is another pause as Scorpius’s lip trembles. He puts his head in his hands and wails again. His words are muffled. “And — and — I’m angry because I know that she would have — that she would have never have wanted this.”

“Scorpius — she would have understood…”

Scorpius raises his head and looks at Rose darkly. “She told me in her final weeks — when she — when she knew — that was dying. She — she wanted me to be happy and loved and that’s all she wanted. And — and — I can’t even do that for her. I can’t even do that for her. I can’t do that for her.”

His grief consuming him, Scorpius is left unable to continue. His sobs are harder, filled with more pain, and Rose quickly wraps her arms around him and pulls him to her chest. She is unsure of how long they lay like that, Scorpius crying and Rose comforting him, but she is glad that the minutes tick by. How can she comfort him? Is there anything that she could possibly say? A perfectionist in everything, her mind swirls through every line of comfort. Her need is desperate and Rose is determined to help her boyfriend.  

She can hear his sniffling weaken and Scorpius clears his throat. “We should — you should go back to sleep,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I know how much you’ve been stressed for your N.E.W.Ts. I don’t want to you be tired in the morning.”

“ _I_ should go to sleep?” Rose challenges and she grins knowingly at him. He returns it and it is genuine. “I’m not going to sleep, Scorpius, and you know I’m not.”

“Well, it would be mildly convenient for you to be sleepy when I’m gushing about History of Magic theory tomorrow when we’re revising,” Scorpius replies. “Any excuse to fall asleep.”

“It is not!” Rose exclaims. “I am always perfectly engaged! But you’re distracting me, Scorpion King.”

Rose holds his hands in her own and stares into his watery, red eyes. “I know I’ll never quite understand it — the loss. It’s always been apart of my life: Fred, Teddy’s Mum and Dad… but grief is not something that I’ve ever experienced.”

“I know,” Scorpius says quietly. “And I’m glad. That you’ve never had to grieve. I never want you to have to go through this.”

“But I do know how proud your Mum would be of who you have grown up to become. Of your love for others, of the empathy that you hold. How much you worry for those you love and the care you have for them. I know she would be proud of the way you’ve taken care of your Dad and how you worry about him being alone here during the year. She would definitely be proud of how hard you work at school and your enthusiasm for History of Magic — even Bathilda Bagshot…”

“Mum loved her!”

Rose and Scorpius begin to laugh and she can sense him calming down. His smile no longer seems as sad and there’s a glint in his eyes at the memory of his Mum. 

Once their laughter has calmed down, Rose continues. “I know her absence is hard but you have all of us. We’re here for you and we love you so, so much. I’ve seen — and listened to — the many, many moments of pride that your Dad has had for you.”

Scorpius winces. “He is mortifying!”

“It is _cute_.”

“Cute? He carried around my O.W.L. results in his pocket for a year!”

“Achievements should always be suitably celebrated, Scorpius.”

“A year!”

“Shush! I’m not finished yet,” Rose interrupts and she kisses him as a distraction. “Albus could not survive without your friendship. And I — I — the amount you’ve taught me. About myself. How happy you make me… I love you Scorpius. So, so much.”

Scorpius is momentarily overwhelmed by emotion; he curves his hands around her face and presses his lips against hers. When he pulls back, Rose’s face falls when she notices that his has fallen again.

“She’s — she’s everywhere, Rose,” Scorpius says glumly. “And I — I — I can’t put that into words how — how painful that is…”

“She’s everywhere and that’s a good thing,” Rose says quickly, the words spilling out of her. “Look at the world we live in, Scorpius! The anti-pureblood supremacy! She contributed to that with her bravery in standing up for what is right, regardless of her privilege! She helped to build the world that we now live in. Dumbledore, look at your Dad!”

“He is rather better than how he was at school, isn’t he?” Scorpius says, a small smile on his lips.

“Look at us! The fact that you’re here with me. Scorpius Hyperion _Malfoy_ with Rose _Granger-Weasley!_ And - and she’s there with Albus! With the fact that she was the one who gave you sweets that day.”

“Sweets, they always help you make friends,” Scorpius sings and the pair burst out into giggles. 

“My Dad and Uncle Harry actually befriended each other through sweets from the trolley. Astoria’s advice is an eternally solid one,” Rose continues. “And your Dad! You were right with what you said. He wouldn’t be the person he is today without her.”

“And our garden wouldn’t look as nice,” Scorpius adds.

“ _What_?”

“Our garden. She got him into gardening."

“Draco Malfoy is a gardening enthusiast?” Rose asks, incredulous.

“Don’t tell your Dad!” Scorpius exclaims. “Dad will kill me!”

“Well, Astoria is very much in your beautiful garden then. So beautiful that I thought it was professionally kept.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “So that’s how he spends his time!”

Scorpius glances to the window and smiles. “It is a beautiful garden.”

Rose takes his hand again and squeezes it. “I know that it’s so awfully hard for you when she’s not there and I know that your graduation will be hard. But I know that she will be there — somehow, somewhere — and she will be so, so proud of you.”

Scorpius looks at his garden again. It is luscious and beautiful, no longer the dismal state that it had been left in after the war. Meticulously cut bushes, in a variety of elegant shapes. Flowers that changed with the season. The tall oak trees that Draco had enchanted for Christmas that lit up at night with soothing dark red and green colours. How many people had been tortured and killed on these grounds? How much blood had been spilled? That was something that Scorpius or Draco rarely thought about when they looked at or walked around their garden. A garden that had been worked on and kept so passionately by Astoria before she became too unwell. 

Scorpius looks at the garden and her presence passes through him. He turns back to Rose and links their hands together. “Thank you,” he says at last. “You’re — you’re right and I love you too.”

He kisses her again, softly and tenderly, and hopes that he can express his gratitude with it. He pulls away and they are left smiling adoringly at each other. 

“I’m sorry for keeping you up,” Scorpius says. He holds his hand up when Rose begins to protest. “I know you wanted to revise for our exams tomorrow.”

“Well, we could just lie in,” Rose replies and Scorpius’s mouth drops open in shock. “I am known to do it every once and a while!”

He smiles at her, his hurt now gone, and Rose feels her stomach flip at how wonderful his happiness looks. She kisses him again, sending the pair stumbling over on the bed and she now lays on top of him. “I would rather stay here, with you, than revise, you know,” Rose says.

“Well, it is awfully cold out there,” Scorpius replies. “Are you sure you want to possibly wake up with my elbow in your face?”

“It is a risk that I will gladly make.”

When Scorpius wakes up that morning, he looks at the sun shining through the window and at the beautiful garden. Though the ache of grief and her absence will always be there, Scorpius is able to smile.


	2. A Peony

Scorpius had always disliked Malfoy Manor during the summer months. The ancient, brick walls trapped the heat in and it was rare to find a window that opened fully. During the occasional heat wave,  the temperatures quickly became suffocating and the sweat that dripped down onto your face was often unbearable.

Once Scorpius had started Hogwarts, his summers became worse. Now going into his third year, summer was a lonely affair and Scorpius missed Albus’s company.  Scorpius would sit and wonder what Albus and his cousins would be getting up to. Albus claimed that he didn’t like any of them very much. But he had so many, Scorpius thought, that surely at least one of them would be playing outside with him.

It wasn’t that Scorpius couldn’t go outside and play during the summer months. He used to when he was younger — running around the sprawling, gorgeous gardens of the Manor in his shorts, playing tag with his Mum, and waving over to his Dad who happily watched on.

Even after starting Hogwarts, the garden became his sanctuary. But this summer was different. Scorpius could not find it in himself to leave the constraints of his home: not when his Mum was trapped inside, too sick to move, and slipping in and out of consecutive comas.

“How is your book, Scorpius?” Astoria asks him one afternoon in late August. She is propped up against the pillows in her bedroom (she had shared one with Draco but her recent  and dwindling health required for her to have her own). Her voice is weak but filled with an interest for her son; a joy that he is reading and absorbing knowledge, that his heart is alive and beating.

Scorpius looks up from his book and grins at her. The sound of her voice, now more than ever, fills his entire body up with comfort. Sometimes her recent comas lasted for several days at a time; several days of a silent body and a silent mother. 

“Great, Mum!” Scorpius replies. He flicks through the pages and frowns. “I just wish it were longer.”

“You always do,” Astoria replies.  She notices the sweat marks around his armpits and frowns.  “Scorpius, it’s quite stuffy in here. Isn’t it?”

Scorpius looks around the room. It’s small with an old, high ceiling that is cracked and dented. The walls have been painted over in a clinical white for Astoria’s stay. There are trays filled with potions to ease Astoria’s pain and the only furniture is two bare seats beside her bed: one for Scorpius and one for Draco.

“Not really,” he remarks. Astoria looks at him, seeing through his forced casualness, and tilts her head. “It is! It’s only a little bit hot, Mum. Do you want me to open a window?”

“They are all open, Scorpius,” Astoria replies. She watches as her son’s face falls and she is quickly filled with resentment for her predicament. A shortened life was something that Astoria could accept; her son suffering because of it was not. “Go outside and play, my Little Scorpion.”

Scorpius stares at her, his mind ticking away for an excuse, and it reminds Astoria of her husband. One day Scorpius would be as fast as him with thinking up fibs and excuses, Astoria is sure of it. 

“I’m nearly in third year, Mum!” Scorpius finally exclaims, folding his arms and pouting. “I’m not very ‘little’ any more.”

“Well. Go outside and play, my Medium-Sized Scorpion.”

“Mum!” Scorpius laughs. He puts his book down and walks to her bed, sitting down by its side. “I can read here. There are flies outside and the peacocks don’t like me very much.”

“Ask Dad to chase them away for you,” Astoria replies. “Like he did when you were little.”

“What about the flies?”

“Scorpius.” Astoria tilts her head again and raises her eyebrows. “I’m okay here. Go and read your book outside.”

“But I… But I…I want to stay inside with you, Mum.” Astoria reaches over to hold his hand but her body quickly spasms. She winces at the pain hitting her fragile, fatigued bones and Scorpius jumps off the bed in shock. “Mum! Are you okay?”

Astoria bites down on her bottom lip. “I’m okay, my Medium-Sized Scorpion.” She reaches for his hand again, ignoring the pain, and squeezes it reassuringly. “Go out and read your book.”

Scorpius and Astoria look at each other in silence and there is an understanding of why Scorpius is reluctant to leave her.

“Go outside and read your book, Scorpius, “ Astoria says again at last. “Remember what I told you. I want you to be happy.”

Scorpius stares at her loving, hopeful face and realises that she will be happier knowing that he is outside and by the shade.  He forces himself to nod and leans over to kiss her cheek. “Okay,” he agrees. “Just half an hour.”

“Your Dad will come and keep me company once he’s finished speaking to the Healers,” Astoria says. “You can come and tell me about your book when you get back. And bring me some flowers from the garden!”

“I’ll bring you one hundred peonies. Your favourite!”

He leans in and kisses her cheek again. His lips linger, still reluctant to let her go, before they finally pull away. He grabs his book and walks to the door. “I’ll be back with your flowers,” he says.

“I’ll be waiting.  I love you, my Little Scorpion.”

“I love you too, Mum,” Scorpius says. “I’ll pick the most beautiful ones!”

~~~~

Scorpius cannot remember falling asleep. 

He can remember walking over to the very edge of the garden and sitting down under his favourite oak tree. His eyes quickly begun to flutter as he read his book, so drained from the heat that he had been. 

What he remembers next is his head jolting up, so quickly that it hurt, and a loud voice bellowing through the garden.

“Scorpius!” Draco is yelling. His voice is hoarse. “Scorpius! Where are you?”

“Dad!” Scorpius shouts back. He tries to stand up but his feet have gone wobbly and he stumbles over. 

Scorpius can hear his Dad storming towards him, his feet rushing against the pavement and then the grass underneath him. Scorpius squints his eyes in disbelief. He has never seen his Dad cry before.

“Scorpius!” Draco pants once he reaches Scorpius.

“Dad! Dad! What is it? Is… is… Mum…” 

Draco grabs Scorpius and pulls him into a fierce hug. It crushes Scorpius but he does not mind. They rarely hugged, especially compared to how often he hugged his Mum, and Scorpius wonders when they will hug again. 

“Scorpius… Scorpius…” Draco repeats as he strokes his son’s hair. 

“Dad…is Mum… what is it, Dad?” Scorpius tries to pull away. He wants to see his Dad’s face clearly. He is unable to believe that this is him, that this hysterical man is him. Scorpius thinks that he saw half of his hair falling out of his pony-tail and he wonders if he had been mistaken. 

“Your Mother…” Draco says quietly before letting out another sob. Scorpius feels his Dad holding him up. “She has — she has — another coma. But — but the healers — they believe that this is — that it is — the — the — last…”

Scorpius hears no more as his knees hit the ground and he is enclosed under a blackness.

~~~~

When Scorpius awakens, he wants to believe that it had been a dream. 

A few moments of denial, an escape from the reality of what was happening. But a moment had never felt so real. Scorpius knows that he could not pretend that he had dreamt up his Dad’s words. 

It is twilight. The moment of Scorpius opening his eyes and realising that his Mum may have passed away, without him there, remains the worst of his entire life for years to come. He bolts up, falling out of his bed with a thud, and runs out of his room and to his Mum’s. 

“Mum! Mum! Oh, please, Mum!” He shouts through the silence of the Manor’s seemingly never-ending corridors. “Mum! Mum! Mummy! Oh please… oh please… no… Mum…”

“Scorpius!” His Dad steps out in-front of him and grabs his shoulders. “Be quiet!” 

At his scolding, Scorpius bursts into tears. Draco’s face falls, horrified, and his hands dangle in the air. He reaches out to hug his son but Scorpius pulls away. 

“Scorpius, I’m sorry,” Draco tries. “Your mother…”

“Where is she?” Scorpius demands and he lunges away from him. “Is she… is she…”

“She doesn’t have much long left,” Draco replies and he winces in pain at the words that have been uttered from his mouth. 

Scorpius ignores him and he feels no sympathy. He is beyond feeling surprised at seeing his Dad like this, a mourning mess, and he does not care for the pain that he is in. _Mine is worse_ , he thinks. _I’ve had less time with her and he’s scolded me for trying to get to her._

“Scorpius, please…” Draco calls after him, as Scorpius runs off to her room. Scorpius can hear his footsteps behind him and he has never wished to be alone so much. His resentment towards his father is pushed under only by the excruciating grief that he is feeling in every inch of his body. 

Scorpius halts at the opened door. He can see her inside, laying there, looking as if she were in any other coma. A regular coma… it is so twisted and unfair that Scorpius can feel himself beginning to cry again. She looks so beautiful, he thinks, despite being so ill and he wants to savour every inch of her. 

“Scorpius…” Draco begins from behind him. Scorpius looks up at him and sees that his face is full of grief and guilt. Scorpius gives him an unapologetic glare through his tears. The hurt is visible in Draco’s face as he forces a nod. “Go and sit down beside her. The Healers said…” 

“You’ve already said, Dad,” Scorpius shuts him off. He takes his mum’s hand and does not acknowledge his father sitting down on her other side and doing the same. 

Scorpius shuts his eyes. He wants to pretend that his father is not here; that he is spending their final hours as just the two of them. He feels a shudder of guilt at the knowledge that this is not how she would have wanted this; she wanted the two of them, father and son, to have a relationship once she had died. 

Scorpius doubted that he would ever be happy again after tonight, so that was his second promise to her that he had broken.

In the hours that drag on, Scorpius has never experienced a numbness like it. He cannot remember what happens in the minutes contained within them. Did a Healer come in to check her? Did his Dad say anything to them? Scorpius isn’t sure. He just wants to remember how it feels to be holding his Mum’s hand as her heart drums away.

He does not hope for a miracle. He is an optimistic boy but optimism has its limits: after a lifetime of wishing for a cure, why would he hope that these hours weren’t his last with a mum? 

At last, a rattling sound comes from Astoria’s chest and Scorpius knows. Even if he knew what to do, he would not be able to do anything: he is nailed to his seat, clenching his Mum’s hand as he cries, and paralysed to do anything else.

His father suddenly rises for a moment and hovers above his chair. Scorpius sees him from the side of his eye. He doesn’t care if he goes to get a healer. He just wants to be here, holding his mum’s hand and memorising how it feels. The safety of it. The comfort of it. His home that will soon be gone.

Draco sits down again and Scorpius watches him lean over to kiss his Mum’s forehead. He takes her hand as he puts his face in his own. 

Her rattling intensifies and her breaths become a struggle until they are no more. They sit in a silence marred by Scorpius’s sobs. His hand still firmly clenches his Mum’s and he vows that it will need to be ripped from him.

At last, his father stands. Scorpius ignores his distraught and hoarse voice calling out for a healer and when he runs out of the room. Scorpius wonders why. His father was never a man of denial but perhaps grief does that to people. Scorpius wonders what grief will do to him.

With tears running down his face and his hand still clenched around hers, he looks down at her dead body. 

“I forgot your flowers,” he says. “Mum, I forgot your flowers.”

~~~~

“I forgot your flowers…. I forgot your… I forgot… I…”

Scorpius’s eyes open. He is not thirteen but seventeen; he is not in his Mum’s room, that he hasn’t visited since, but in his bed at Hogwarts; it is no longer dark and the bright morning sun shines through the window. 

Sweat drips down him and it is mixed by the salty liquid of the tears on his face. There is an emptiness in his chest as he thinks about what she had said to him, about wanting him to be happy, and how he has started today — his graduation feast — in the most unhappiest of states.

He forgot her flowers and he has failed her again.

“Scorpius? Are you awake?” Albus says from beside him.

“N-” Scorpius grimaces and he clenches his eyes shut.

“Were you about to say _no_ , you aren’t awake?”

“N-n-no,” Scorpius responds and he forces a cough. He pulls his duvet up and desperately tries to wipe his tears with it. “Just groggy. Big day, isn’t it? A big day. The biggest day. This is the best day of your life, isn’t it?”

“Well, I won’t get to see your ugly mug every day,” Albus responds and he whacks Scorpius with a pillow. There’s a silence and, within it, an expectation that Scorpius will respond. When he doesn’t, Albus frowns and rises out of his bed. “Are you… you aren’t nervous about today, are you?”

“Nervous? What? No. I’m… I’m… I’m fine. Completely fine,” Scorpius says. He tilts his body slightly, still hiding his face, and weakly throws a pillow at Albus. It misses, flinging across the room at another bed that subsequently yells out. “I’m sorry!”

Scorpius can hear the rustling as Albus removes the duvet off of him and the footsteps as he steps out of his bed. He pulls his duvet further up, enclosing his face underneath it, and tries to scrub the remaining droops of sweat and tears away. 

“Scorpius, what’s the matter?” Albus asks, concern dripping off of every word. 

Knowing that he has to get up to prove his wellbeing and feeling half content with the dryness of his face, Scorpius flicks his covers off and stumbles out of the bed. He gives his best friend a forced grin. “Nothing. I’m — I’m just going to miss… to miss… Professor McGonagall.”

“ _Professor_ _McGonagall_?”

“She is — she is a force of a woman, Albus.” 

“A force of a woman? Scorpius, can you even hear what you’re saying?”

“She is — she is — she is fierce. And I like fierce woman. Like Rose.”

“Something is definitely wrong,” Albus says, folding his arms. “You know that you can talk to me about it.”

“I’m fine! I’m fine! I’m more than fine.” He exaggeratedly sniffs at his armpits. “Dumbledore! I need to go and shower!” 

“Shower? Scorpius, you showered last night!”

“Must be fresh for — for — for Rose. And McGonagall. McGonagall and Rose!” He darts off in the direction of the washroom, leaving a startled Albus behind him. 

  
~ ~ ~ ~

Albus showers and dresses quickly. He sits on his bed, his hair still damp, and waits for Scorpius to come back through. Is Scorpius sad about leaving Hogwarts? Is he sad that he won’t get to see him and Rose every day? Maybe we should get a flat together after we leave, Albus ponders. Like the Muggles do. Wizarding Families are too out-dated, Albus thinks. Scorpius and him should get a flat. _But then Rose… Rose and Scorpius being… doing…_ Albus grimaces. 

“Boys! Boys! Come on, hurry up! It’s time to go out!” Albus hears their Head of House, Professor Leslie shout, as she storms into their dormitory. “Mr Potter! Where is our Head Boy?”

“Right here, Miss!” Albus hears Scorpius shout. He watches as he rushes into their dorm, still tying his tie as he does so. “My speech is with Rose. She wanted to make sure that hers flowed with mine.”

Far from a professor of pomp and certainly not one that understood Rose Granger-Weasley, Professor Leslie stares at Scorpius blankly before forcing a nod. “Very well, very well. I need to attend to the girls. Miss Lyman has accidentally set the tips of her hair on fire.”

“Honest mistake,” Albus says. He stands up and awkwardly claps his hand onto Scorpius’s shoulder. “I’ll make sure he’s there in time.”

There is a loud spark from behind the door that leads into the main room of the Dungeon. Professor Leslie jumps and runs out. “Behave! Behave! You are a menace to this great house! Two Heads in a row!”

“Two heads in a row,” Albus repeats, moving around to face Scorpius. “The great Slytherin revival. Wasn’t that really smart boy, what was his name? Ryan Edwards? The one that was in his seventh year when we started? Wasn’t he tipped in the Prophet to succeed your mother-in-law one day? A muggle-born Slytherin Minister for Magic. The Slytherin Renaissance is here.”

“She is not my mother-in-law!” Scorpius says. “But, yes. I think our house has adequately improved. With thanks to us saving the world, of course.”

Albus grins at Scorpius and, to his relief, Scorpius returns it. 

“Earlier,” Albus begins, Scorpius’s genuine grin encouraging him. “You — you didn’t seem okay. Are you okay? We don’t need to be at the feast until McGonagall’s speech, really. It’s our last day. We can dodge it and go out and…. _talk_.”

There is a silence between the boys, penetrated only by the noise of  the rushing students surrounding them. Scorpius opens his mouth, needing to say something to keep up his pretence, and Albus begins to fiddle with his cloak. 

“Only if you want to,” Albus adds quickly. “Or we can…”

He stops and watches as Scorpius’s eyes flicker down to the portrait of Astoria and him beside his bed. He is three in it, his lanky and scrawling blond hair swept across his face by the wind. They are on a beach and he is sitting on Astoria’s lap, both of them are laughing as she leans in to kiss his cheek. 

“I…” Albus begins before stopping. He goes red, embarrassed that he had ruined what felt like such an intimate moment. He swallows and palms at his cloak again. “I — I can leave, if you want.”

Scorpius looks up and smiles weakly at him.  His eyes are glazed. Albus understands.

“Your Mum…” Albus chokes out. “Scorpius… I’m… I’m… I know today… I’m sorry…”

Scorpius shakes his head. “Albus, it’s….”

He is interrupted by Albus lunging forward and flinging his arms around him. Scorpius is smothered by his hug; it resembles the ones that his Grandma Molly gives, he thinks, as he allows himself to be completely embraced by his friend. 

Both boys realise that this moment is more than a hug: it is solidarity. It is a touch, Albus’s touch, that shows Scorpius that he is not alone; that Albus may have not experienced the loss that he had but that he would try every thing to understand and to comfort as if he did. It is the cumulation of seven long and hard years: seven years of bullying, death, trauma, time-turning and, most importantly,  of friendship. 

At last, they pull away and smile at each other.

“Thank you,” Scorpius says. “Not — not just for the hug. For — for — every thing.”

“I’m your best friend,” Albus replies. His mouth is opened to continue when he is interrupted by the sound of Professor Leslie’s heels stomping back up the stairs and her voice bellowing at her house-students. 

“Make your way down to the Great Hall for the Feast! Quick, quick! we need to be settled. A lot of distinguished guests will be here today,” she says while glancing at Albus. 

“Coming?” Albus says, adjusting his tie. Grandma Weasley would, of course, scold him if he wasn’t smart for his graduation feast. 

Scorpius is leaning over to grab the cloak laying on his bed when Professor Leslie jumps up, startled. “Not you, Mr Malfoy! On you go, Mr Potter. But you wait here, Mr Malfoy.”

“Wait here, Professor?” Scorpius says anxiously. “Why would I….” 

He stops when he hears the familiar clanks of shoes walking up the stairs and into his dormitory. Draco appears, impeccably dressed in black and green dress robes, and no longer looking as he once had in this very dormitory. He does not swagger as he had done during his youth but, rather, stands nervously by the door. 

“Hello, Draco,” Albus says. “Looking forward to Scorpius’s speech? Or — no — should I ask, are you looking forward to fifteen minutes of bad puns?”

“Hey!” Scorpius scolds and he swats at a grinning Albus. “Just you wait. Hogwarts will be revolutionised by my puns. There will never be a sad face or a tear shed again.”

“ _Right_ ,” Albus says. “They’ll be too traumatised.” He looks down at his watch — the one that his Mum and Dad had gifted him for his seventeenth — before glancing back up at Scorpius.

“I better go and meet my Mum and Dad,” he continues. “I’d save you a seat but you’re the fancy prance Head Boy that gets to sit at the head table today.”

“I forgot about that,” Draco says quietly from behind them and his face is melting with pride. “I’m very glad that I brought my camera.”

“Dad!”

Albus throws his head back, laughing, before moving to leave with an impatient Professor Leslie. “I’ll see you up there, Scorpius. Bye, Draco!” 

Father and son are left alone and a thick silence clogs the air. It was not that the pair were as bad as they once had been, in the immediate year after Astoria’s death; their relationship is not perfect, nor would it ever be, but it is still a loving one between a parent and a child. 

It is a absence — _the_ absence — that causes the silence. 

“The Dungeon hasn’t changed,” Draco says at last and he runs his hand across the green bed curtain. “I don’t think it has since the first Malfoy was sorted.”

“But we’ve changed,” Scorpius says confidently, a fierceness and pride in his voice. “The Malfoys have.”

Draco smiles. “That we have.”

Draco’s head tilts towards the picture beside Scorpius’s bed and Scorpius feels another stab of pain. His Mum should be here with him, he thinks, and he looks down at the floor and begins to fiddle with his fingers. The silence begins again.

It is the need to comfort his father that forces Scorpius’s to look up. The pain that accompanies the memory of his wife is clear in Draco’s face and Scorpius reaches out towards him.

“Dad… are you…”

“That day,” he says, his voice thick with emotion “We took you to your first beach that day.”

“I think I remember,” Scorpius says. “Well — I remember the cold.”

“You were only laughing in this photo because I was doing strange faces behind the camera,” Draco replies and he smiles. “You were a huffy toddler. The sand didn’t impress you.”

“Rose took me to Shell Cottage last summer. It was all between my toes.” Scorpius grimaces and shakes his head. “Maybe you can aim a silly face my way today, during the speech. If I get a bit nervous.”

“You’re Scorpius Malfoy, you shouldn’t get nervous,” Draco answers firmly before pausing. He straightens his posture and pulls at the sleeves of his robes before clearing his throat. “I know that today is a big day for you. I know that the biggest days are often the most difficult.”

Scorpius looks down at the floor and nods. “They are,” he agrees, quietly.

“I want to make sure that you’re alright,” Draco continues, his voice clear. “That you aren’t hurting today. I don’t want you to be hurting. I don’t want you to be missing her.”

There is a crack in his voice and Scorpius is forced to look up. It’s still strange, he thinks, seeing his father so vulnerable; Astoria’s death had removed large chunks of the Malfoy’s repressiveness that he had been raised to adhere to. 

“I am,” Scorpius replies. He sighs, frustrated, and sits down onto his bed. “I wish… I wish she were here. I _want_ her here.”

Scorpius fixes his eyes to the floor as a silence passes between them. Draco steps forward before hesitating; Scorpius looks up and, at the sight of his son, Draco manages to walk towards him. He bends down and places his hands onto Scorpius’s shoulders.

“You cannot imagine how much I want her here too. Not just for me. I want her to be able to share our joy, to share your joy, and for her to be there with us today. I want you, more than anything, to be able to share your joy with her today.” Draco pauses. “But she is here, Scorpius, that I am certain of…”

Scorpius’s watches as Draco begins to dab at his eyes. He has not seen his father cry since the day Astoria died. Ever the Malfoy, his pain had been impeccably concealed during the funeral — despite the noises that Scorpius had heard and ignored from his father’s room that morning. 

“Dad… you don’t… you don’t need to…” Scorpius stands and helps his father up. “I’m okay, really, I promise…”

“You were — _are_ — the light in my world that has been permanently dimmed by your mother’s death.”

Scorpius’s eyes begin to water and he can feel his throat tightening. “I — I love you too, Dad,” he replies quickly. “And I’m sorry if I’ve ever not shown that enough.” 

A blazing love on his face, Draco cups Scorpius’s with his hands. “She is here,” he says firmly. “Those eyes… your braveness… your kindness. Your affection. The love that you have in here.”

Draco places his hand onto his son’s chest and feels his heart for several beats. He then grabs Scorpius and pulls him into the fiercest of hugs. 

“The way that you endured her death, at such a young age. I — at your age, I could have never. Loosing my father to Azkaban was enough.” Draco’s voice tenses for a moment. “The way that you have redefined the Malfoy name. Centuries of prejudice, of hate, and you have changed that. As furious and horrified as I was, your bravery in that other world was all her.”

“I don’t believe that,” Scorpius murmurs. “It takes bravery to stand up to Grandfather like you did.”

“Seeing the best in me — that is trait that you also share with her,” Draco responds, his voice muffled by emotion again. “The man that you have become. I could not be prouder of you, Scorpius. Your mother… she did not have very long and yet she still made her impact. I know that you will carry her legacy on.”

Draco holds Scorpius for a moment longer, the palms of his hand rubbing his son’s back; a sadness fills him and, for once, a normalcy lines it. It is the sadness of a father, with or without that mark on his arm,  on his only son’s graduation feast: the sadness of realising that Scorpius is on the brink of adulthood and no longer the chubby faced, red cheeked child that he had been. 

“Our grief will never leave us,” he says firmly. He tightens his grip on Scorpius. “But it will not suffocate us.”

“That — That — That it won’t,” Scorpius says and he clears his throat awkwardly, pulling away. “We can just try and make it — make it less murkier.”

“Yes. We can,” Draco replies. “I want you to know, though, how proud your mother would have been today…”

Draco’s voice falters slightly. Scorpius notices the crack and reaches out. “Dad, you don’t need to…I know…”

Draco shakes his head. “Then you will hear it again,” he says. “She would have been. Not just at you being Head Boy, with your speech, but of the way that you have cared for your peers and your younger students. How you helped the first years with your new… what was it called again? Forgive me, it was such a strange phrase.”

“The _buddy_ system, Dad,” Scorpius responds with a small grin. “I suppose I appropriated the name from the muggles.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Appropriated from the _muggles?”_

Scorpius nods. “It was Rose’s idea, really.  She had one at her muggle primary school. I just implemented it.”

Draco smirks, a playful mischievousness itched across it. “Even better that it was reported in the _Daily Prophet’s_ education section. Your Grandad will be heaving.”

Scorpius laughs and, for the second time that day, he feels himself getting lighter. “Rose will _love_ that.”

Draco’s eyes glint at the sound of his son’s laughter. “Your mother would be so proud of you.” He continues. “Not just at your intelligence and your _outstanding_ marks — the highest O.W.L.  History of Magic score in history…”

“ _Dad_ …”

“But also your love of learning. Not just the way that you love others, but the way that you are there for Rose and for Albus. Your compassion, your bravery, your resilience… I could go on,” Draco says. He pauses to clear his throat. “But I won’t. She is there in all of that — today and in ever day after.”

Draco places his hand on Scorpius’s heart again. They stand in silence: Draco listening to the sound of his son’s heart beating and memories of both him and Astoria filling his mind. At last, he uses his other arm to pull Scorpius to him and into a hug.

It is a longer one and Draco unashamedly smothers his son. It is interrupted only by the sobs coming from Scorpius, startling Draco, who immediately pulls back and looks at the weeping Scorpius in horror. 

“Scorpius — are —”

“Happy tears, Dad! Happy tears!”

Draco takes out a silk, lilac handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to Scorpius.

“Mum’s,” Scorpius acknowledges as he wipes his nose. “What time is it? I don’t want to be late.”

Draco looks at his watch. It had been gifted to him by Astoria for their wedding: Lucius and Narcissa hadn’t gifted him one for his seventeenth, the war having disrupted their wealth and ability to obtain one at the time, and Draco had bitterly rejected any other offers in the aftermath. “We should go. I want the best seat for your speech,” Draco says. “I am upset that you’re going out with Rose and that I rather like her. I can’t insult her speech to Ron.”

Scorpius rolls his eyes. “You two are ridiculous,” He reaches over to his bed and gathers his things. “Ready?”

“I have one, final thing,” Draco says. He places his hands into his cloak pocket. “Don’t worry, it’s not your exam results or your head boy letter. I don’t need one today.  The proof of your greatness will be there for everyone to see.”

“Your camera better not flash,” Scorpius warns. “And don’t take too many pictures!”

“Ah, here it is,” Draco pulls out a velvet pouch. He fiddles with it, opening the latch, and takes out a pink peony lapel pin. “It has been charmed so that it won’t dry out. It’s from the garden. Your mother’s favourite.”

“Dad… I….” 

“So you’ll have something of her, up there with you,” Draco says, his voice a forced clearness to fight through the emotion within it. He steps forward and shuffles Scorpius’s cloak, moving the fabric away, and inserts the pin onto his jumper. “There.”

Scorpius gently touches the pin before being forced to wipe his eyes again. “I…Thank you, Dad.” He says. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Draco responds. “Shall we? I promise to behave.”

Scorpius and Draco leave the dungeons, laughing, and knowing that this is what Astoria would have wanted.

~~~~

“It is now my pleasure,” Rose’s booming voice says. She is standing at the Headmistresses’s podium, her robes impeccably smart and her posture confident and composed. A smile is plastered across her face, as it had been since she had opened her eyes that morning. “To allow my Head-Boy to give his speech. Scorpius.”

Scorpius rises and he twitches his palms. His stomach gurgles, nerves jolting around within it. He vaguely sees Albus’s smiling face in the crowd, his extended family and friends (Grandma Weasley was beaming, of course, and Ginny was watching with a pride as if he were her own), and the emotional face of his Dad. He sees them and he tells himself that he can and will deliver this speech.

He walks over to Rose, who is still beaming, and gives her a hug and a quick peck on her cheek. “You were wonderful,” he says. 

“I know. You will be too,” Rose responds. She squeezes his hand before stepping down to their seats.

Scorpius stands at the podium and looks at the faces staring up at him. He touches his peony pin gently and begins his speech.

~~~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very, very sorry for the big delay! I was really busy with other stuff. I hope to have the final chapter completed a lot sooner!

**Author's Note:**

> I've planned Part 2 out and it should hopefully be coming soon!


End file.
